Stiles' Massage
by DancesintheWind
Summary: Stiles wanted to spread the holiday cheer but he didn't think this one through.


A/N: I began this story back in July but I've been without a personal computer since August. I had no desire to type on my tablet because it just isn't the same, you know? I miss the familiar sound of clacking keys.

Anyways, I got over my distrust of my tablet (even though it auto corrects words I DON'T WANT,) and ta da! A story for you!

Enjoy!

* * *

It was the holiday season and Stiles was so merry on spirits, holiday spirits, but also the spirits his dad kept locked in a cabinet in the kitchen. Nothing was going to get in the way of his holiday cheer, not even a pesky lock.

The pack was leaving after spending all evening at the Stilinski house. Everyone had shared from the whiskey bottle that was passed around, but only Stiles, Allison and Lydia were effected by the alcohol. Oh cruel world! And even then, Lydia was still perfect and amazing and didn't show any signs of being drunk, while Stiles felt like kissing everyone because he felt so good.

He could tell he had too much to drink because he was getting handsy; rubbing Scott's thigh when they played Monopoly, sinking his fingers into Isaac's curls, griping Boyd's arm while debating which pizza slice to have next and hugging Allison, Erica and Lydia extra long at the door when saying goodbye. It's not like he still harbored feelings for Lydia. In fact, he considered her more like a really good friend, as were the rest of the pack females.

He loved hugs and he also loved expressing himself, so he couldn't help it that he hugged them extra long, cooing about how much he cared for them and appreciated them. Everyone laughed at him, but Stiles only smiled, completely comfortable in letting everyone know that he loved his friends.

Everyone had a good time, laughing and enjoying themselves, even Derek attended the party. Perhaps he was starting to realize that even fierce pack leaders needed to enjoy time with their pack. You know, bonding and shit. Clearing up all confusion now, let it be known that even though Derek freaking Hale attended the party, in no way did he share the joy of the season with the group.

He didn't partaketh of the cup, he didn't sing or chat or do anything really, that one would be expected to do at a party. In fact, he was quite the opposite; moody and gloomy. He sat and watched everyone else have fun and when it was time to play Monopoly, a Stiles and Scott winter tradition, he slammed his dog piece (Stiles made sure that Derek could only be the dog pawn, assigning the other pawns to everyone else and hiding the extras) down on the squares, passed and took money with a frown and made sure everyone knew, from his behavior, that this was the most painful thing he had ever had to do, even though he was a werewolf who battled crime for a living. Boo hoo.

A thought stilled Stiles for a moment. What was the cause for Derek's sullen behavior? Perhaps, like Stiles, the winter season made him think of his family, or in Stiles' case, his mom. Was Derek, even now surrounded by his new family, mourning the loss of his blood family? But there was always a time for that! A time to mourn and a time to be happy... Like that song. So Derek had to essentially suck it up and get over it, at least during time with pack.

The pack was saying their good byes, bundling on coats, wrapping scarves and opening the front door as the wind demanded enterence, pushing against the throng of people, slipping in between gaps of arms and legs and sending a chill into the room, and consequently, blowing the Monopoly money out of the banker's slots and sent them hurdling against the far wall.

Derek exhaled loudly through his nose from where he was trying to clean up from the living room floor. Stiles quickly said goodbye to everyone and turned to help Derek. He watched comically for a moment, enjoying first, the pull of Derek's jeans over his ass as he bent to pick up stray bills and the stretch of his shirt over his back muscles and he stood back up, then with hilarity at Derek's continuous grumpy face, as if the whole night personally offended him and he wanted to stomp his feet and throw a fit.

Stiles thought that even if life sucked and everything was going wrong, like in Derek's case, one just had to suck it up and get over it because how was one suppose to enjoy life if he was always looking over his shoulder, regretting and brooding about the past? Yeah, Derek's life so far has been pretty shitty, but there are times for him to mope and moan about it. A holiday party was certainly not the best choice for it.

The image was hilarious and Stiles couldn't keep an adoring smile off his face. Even though Derek was stomping around the room, picking up the money that blew around, Stiles couldn't help feeling something settle in his chest; a heavy comfort, a (dare he say?) fondness over the grumpy wolf, even with his sullen attitude and obvious dislike for other people.

He could feel his mouth split into a grin and laughing at his own realization, he went to help the werewolf clean up the money. Derek gave him the stink eye when Stiles brushed up against him, but nothing could wipe this grin off his face. He was feeling so content (and so drunk, literally and figuratively,) with life.

Derek sat back down at the board game on the floor, money all collected again, and began organizing it by color back into their little piles. Stiles knelt next to him, working quietly too, only the slick sound of paper being piled disturbing the quiet of the room.

It was nice that Derek chose to stay. It felt good to sit beside him and work. He could have left with everyone else but he volunteered to help Stiles clean up the house before he left. Even with all his anti-social qualities, Stiles could not deny that Derek was being surprisingly thoughtful. You can learn new things all the time, right? Derek's kind of like an onion, just like ogres. Man, how often did people let Derek know how awesome he was? He bet never! No one appreciates Derek! Well, in Stiles' alcohol influenced mind, he decided to show Derek some appreciation of his own.

Without thinking it through, Stiles leaned over into Derek's personal space and slid his hands over Derek's shoulders. The werewolf's entire body tensed, shoulders and back stiff as he inhaled deeply, as if about to protest this abuse. Hid hands were frozen, hovering over the still unorganized bank money, as if unsure to keep going to to turn around and push Stiles away. Instead he jerked his head quickly to the side to watch Stiles out of the corner of his eye, distrust evident.

"Relax sourwolf," Stiles huffed with fondness as he dug his fingers into Derek's shoulders. "Just thought I would give you a massage. I give awesome massages; you can ask my dad," he related with enthusiasm.

Stiles' hands moved across the man's shoulders in front of him, kneading and rubbing at his tense muscles. Was he tense because although his body could heal big injuries, it overlooked smaller pains, like knots and tense muscles? Or was Derek just tense all the time, enough that even as his body healed itself, it created new aches and pains almost immediately afterwards?

Stiles massaged his shoulders methodically and slowly, feeling suddenly, in his drunken state, that this was his job to bestow this kind gesture to Derek, an individual who fought hard for his life, but was never given a break.

"Relax," he murmured again, pushing his whole body into Derek's shoulder blades as he worked a knot out.

It almost sobered Stiles, to think how hard Derek's life has been. He was betrayed by someone he trusted, most of his family was murdered in a fire, he lived with guilt, his sister was murdered, his uncle was crazy and he was in charge of a slue of high school kids. Yikes!

He increased the pressure of his thumbs and was rewarded by a low, drawn out moan by Derek. The sound sent a curiously delicious thrill through his body. It was a great reason to keep going; he wanted to pull more sounds, guttural, raw, emotional, unwillingly out of the werewolf because it made him feel something deep in his stomach; something he wanted to feel but if asked, he couldn't put words to it.

Like exhaling a breathe, Derek seemed to let go of his tension, relaxing and slumping forward.

Stiles dug his fingers deep into the sinew of his shoulders, feeling like another win, than moved them firmly around the edges of his shoulder blades. Derek's body felt amazing. Stiles had only ever admired it with glances. He had never dreamt of being able to touch him, let alone, feel freely the hard, sculpted muscles and planes of his body, squeezing and running his fingers along his hot skin, the heat even felt through the tee shirt that Derek was wearing.

Derek let out a satisfied rumble, and taking that as another personal victory, Stiles moved in closer, his whole front pressed against Derek's backside as he rubbed at the base of the man's neck and into his hair, scratching his blunt finger nails against his scalp, then in small circles at his temple. Peeking over his shoulder, Stiles could see Derek's eyes were closed and he was almost smiling. Well, no, actually at least he wasn't frowning. The corners of his lips were hesitantly tipped upwards. Although it wasn't a real, big smile, considering Derek's micro moods, it was a big deal.

Pressing his body so close made his blood pound in his ears. It felt amazing and he couldn't stop from getting carried away. It felt amazing to press against Derek's backside; what would it would feel like to press against Derek's backside if they were lying down? What if Derek wasn't wearing a shirt, what would it feel like? What if both of their naked chests were pressed together? Or if Derek would turn and put his hands on Stiles? What about Derek pressing in from behind Stiles, embracing him or tangled up in the sheets on his bed?

He found himself panting and a growing situation in his pants. Pulling away slightly, so at least Derek wouldn't get poked, he tried to talk himself down.

'It's just a massage, it's just a massage,' he repeated in his head like a chant, hoping that Derek didn't notice Stiles internal and physical struggle.

He backed off and sat back on his feet, hands moving bravely across the werewolf's back side. His hands followed the vertebrates down his backside to his lower back than scratched and rubbed his way back up to his shoulders again. He did it again, but this time, squeezing his hands around his sides, inching up until he was at his arm pits.

Stiles went back to his shoulders, circling his hands over them, much like his sides, and squeezed. He drummed his fingers over his clavical, then, without ill intent, circled his neck.

Derek's body tensed, shoulders hunching as he curled his body. Stiles froze with trepidation, realizing immediately his mistake. Wolves displayed their necks as a sign of submission, and to touch or grab another wolf's neck meant you were dominant to them.

His hands were on both sides of his neck, thumbs touching in the back, making his fingers spread out like wings under his ears. He was very careful not to press in too hard, but moved his fingers up and down.

"It's okay," Stiles murmured to reassure himself as equally as much as to reassure Derek.

Like a switch, Derek relaxed again, sagging his body. Either he was consoled with Stiles' words, or he knew that Stiles really didn't mean anything, or couldn't really do any real harm. Whatever the reason, Stiles was overwhelmed with the feeling of trust.

Aww, Sourwolf trusted him.

Stiles moved his fingers very carefully over his neck than went back to his shoulders.

Feeling drunk and giddy, he worked his sides again, after all, the sides were always forgotten in a massage, and feeling daring, he went even further around his side, raking his fingers horizontally across his skin. He was delighted to hear a grumble from Derek's throat. He did it again, and got the same response from him.

Feeling carried away, (come on guys, he was drunk, okay? He had an excuse, er, sorta) he raked his finger tips around Derek's sides, further than before, moving quickly over his pectoral muscles, scraping against his hard nipples, beaded and firm against his finger tips. Derek's breathe hissed out from between his teeth, body tensing again.

"Mmm," moaned Stiles, unable to keep his delight silent, only a little out of breathe at getting such a response from Derek. His problem in his pants had not gone down all the way and jumped to attention at Derek's response.

He raked his finger tips across Derek's nipples again. Derek arched against him but spit out contrary words.

"Stiles," he hissed in annoyance, "stop that,"

Stiles ignored the demand and did it a third time, leaning over and panting in Derek's ear. But this time Derek's hand caught his wrist in an iron grip.

"Okay, okay," Stiles relented in a whiny voice, displeased but mostly hurt that Derek was not enjoying Stiles' careful attention to not only his back side but his front side too.

He massaged Derek's backside for a few more minutes, staying in the safe zone, only rubbing his shoulders and back. But when would be get to do this again? When would he be daring and brave enough to touch Derek so willingly and passionately? When would Derek ever allow a massage again? It was up to Stiles to make the most of the situation, especially since he knew it was likely that this would never happen again.

Before Derek could do anything, Stiles slid his hands down the front of Derek's chest, whimpering at the feeling of his bunched up abdominal muscles, practically hugging him from behind.

"Mmm," he breathed, "you feel so good," his fingers moved in languid circles across Derek's torso.

"Stiles," Derek warned, "Stiles, stop," his voice was deep, as his body tensed.

Stiles would think later about that later; although Derek warned him, he didn't physically try to stop his advancing hands.

Ignoring the man, his fingers found the waist band of his jeans and he dipped his fingers dangerously below. Even in his drunken haze, Stiles was able to figure out that something was inhibiting his progress; Derek's jeans were just too damn tight to get in there. Feeling beyond excited, his fingers fumbled clumsily to undo the button quickly, his breathe panting on the back of Derek's neck. He was able to pop the button but Derek caught his wrist before he could do anything else.

Stiles, your drunk," his voice was husky. Although his words made Stiles pout, his deep voice sent a shiver of desire through his body.

"So?" he whined, squirming in his grasp as he fingered the man's zipper.

"No, your drunk," he repeated, pushing Stiles hand firmly away from his body.

Stiles pulled his hands back with remorse. He was floored with shame and embarrassment. Another person rejecting him, damn. What a great feeling. But now at least, Stiles knew that Derek didn't feel the same way and he could start working toward getting over the man and on with his life.

He pulled away completely, standing up and turning away. His emotions where all over the place. This sucked. At least when Lydia rejected him, she did it with obvious disinterest by bedding other guys. But this so extremely more personal because he took a chance and was rejected. This felt too personal.

Stiles really put himself out there and it fucking hurt to have his feelings crushed to the floor.

"Wait- shit, no- Stiles," Stiles could hear him scrambling behind him.

Derek's stupid, fucking werewolf speed wouldn't even allow Stiles a good walk-away-and-slam-the-door routine because he was already pulling on Stiles' arm to try and turn him around.

"Stiles, wait," he began again. "I didn't mean-" he made a frustrating noise and Stiles could only stare at how human Derek looked right now.

His hair was a mess (from Stiles' fingers obviously) but his face was flushed and his eyes were earnest and shining.

Derek caught Stiles' face between his rough hands and crowded in closely.

What the fuck? Was Derek trying to mock him? Stiles glared disapprovingly at the werewolf, not only heart broken at his crushed advances, but starting to get pissed at Derek's mockery and pity party. His happy mood sure did turn sour with the events.

"Come to me tomorrow," Derek rushed out with a breath, "come to me tomorrow if you really want this. But not now Stiles. You're drunk and I wouldn't want you to regret this, "

Derek lunged forward, pressing his mouth firmly against the Stiles' with a hunger that matched Stiles' wants.

"Will you come tomorrow?" Derek's voice hitched, the only give away that he was feeling nervous about Stiles' answer.

"Yes," Stiles wanted to joke about how this was such like a rom-com but he was too damn happy.

Derek leaned forward again, running the tip of his nose gently over Stiles cheek. He pulled away, gave a small smile and then was gone.

The swirl of the crisp wind blowing through the room and the sting of Stiles' lips were the only testimonies that Derek had been there.

He didn't know how long he stood there but his face ached from smiling.

Stiles looked down. Damn, he still had to finish cleaning up Monopoly.


End file.
